Permaneo Sto
by AzzyDarling
Summary: A survivors last moments.


Track : Dead can dance ~ The writing on my father's Hand  
AN: Yay kicking off my little silly multifandom drabble project to get my muse back under submission to my will *grins* And NO Permaneo Sto has nothing to do with the game of the same name, it simply means 'the last stand' in latin.

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**permaneo sto.** (last stand)

'Actually I had always thought I would rejoice by the sound of rotor blades, I somehow always believed that it would be our salvation. Sometimes I would even wake at night, thinking I heard something, something that might be 'something', but soon realised that it was nothing but some of those undead fuckers, trying to claw their way through brick wall with an uncanny determination.

I also thought that in this, my final moments, I would think of my parents, my siblings, my childhood.. my old dog even, but no. My only thought goes out to you, knowing that you are most likely screaming at the chopper pilot, I wonder if the others have to tackle you before you bring the whole bird down to a fiery end. Maybe they'll sedate you?

I asked for this, I told you to leave, or rather, I told the others to grab you and run. Right now I wonder if that was a wise decision, maybe it would have worked if they had grabbed me instead? I hadn't thought I would be this frightened, I seriously hadn't thought I would be this reluctant to part with life.

Opening my rifle, I look at the two shots in the chamber. I can't help but to let out an insane sound that could have been a snort, a laugh or a sob, I don't know. Who would have thought I would end my days like this? Covering between a wall and a trashcan, waiting to be eaten alive. It's crazy! The idea alone that the dead rise is crazy, and I didn't believe it myself till I saw it. One would have thought that all those lame zombie movies you see could prepare you. 'Cept the real world is nothing like fiction. The infested hands 'will' grab me, and their blunt teeth 'will' tear into my flesh, and.. Quite different knowing this, than watching it in safety on your tv screen, knowing it all make-believe and actors in bad make-up.

Nothing prepares you for this. And nothing prepares you for the desperate decisions you have to make. I have to admit that I thought I would be the last person on earth to sacrifice myself. Not for any cause, and most certainly not for any person, or persons. Yet here I am staring at my two buckshots in the rifle, feeling a slight pang of pride, knowing that you and the others made it to the waiting helicopter. Maybe I am a little proud of myself amidst my fear, knowing that the last thing I did was an unselfish deed, maybe even wiping the slate clean for my maker, I don't know, maybe I am grasping straws? But right now I am willing to believe just about anything, and most of all that when I fall, there will be someone to catch me in soft wings.

At first it was hard to kill the undead, because they still looked a little like people, you could tell they had been piccolos, dancers, security guards and what not. Later it got easier, until it actually became a game, okay, admitted, a sick and twisted game, but a game none the less. You learned to distance yourself from the reality of these undead just a week ago was just like you. And luck seemed to be the only difference between you and them.

In my epitaph it will say nothing of my shaking hands, my doubts, the silent tears I shed for myself, or the panic I felt, wishing I had chosen something different. I hope that when time passes you will remember me fondly, and smile when you tell an anecdote, in that way I will be immortal. Even if I feel nothing like immortal right now. Maybe it's true what they say, you come into this world alone, and you exit it alone. Lord knows I never felt more alone than right how. Even if there is what sounds like an ocean of rotting flesh on the other side of this container of plastic, just waiting to rip me apart. Looks like I am the star of the show after all. Insane, I must be loosing my mind! All I can think of is my mother telling I would never go places, and here I am with the worlds biggest audience, all anxiously awaiting my performance.

I almost screamed as something grabbed the trashcan, it seems like they had caught my scent. And for some reason my mind wont stop running over the same phrase over and over 'show time kiddo'.


End file.
